Why?

Because it's the London outpost of New York's glammest, VIPpest, most celebrity-spangled club. Bungalow 8 NY has served as the piping-hot centre of the known boozy-celebrity universe for the last six years or so since ultra-host Amy Sacco opened it. Rumours of how ridiculously tricky it is to get in to, and also of how you should try absurdly hard to nonetheless, because ladies like Kate Moss and Lindsay Lohan regularly go there with the sole purpose of demonstrating their pole-dancing skills, have seeped out ever since. A year ago, stories that Sacco was planning a London equivalent began to circulate. She finally did - last month.

So obviously, you had to go.

Obviously. Coincidental-like, I had dropped by the Manhattan original a few weeks previously. My friend Peroxide Power Chick and I sought out Bungalow 8 NY one Saturday night in late August. The Cocktail Girl's sources had reported that the club only ever got going 'late, late, late!', so we didn't show up until 11.30pm - but got knocked back by the doorman who arrived after us, and told us Bungalow 8 didn't even open a jot before midnight. Well! We returned shortly after half 12, to discover we were still the only people in the joint. I stuck it out for a couple of hours despite my raging jetlag. I very much liked: the DJ, who was unexpectedly bearded, and played excellent British 80s electro music; the banquettes, which were squidgy and pleasingly symmetrical and afforded excellent views of the rest of the room; the pot plants and the fact that there was no VIP area (In Sacco's world, every square inch of every one of her clubs is a VIP zone). I didn't like: mediocre drinks (tap tonic in the V&T? Uninspired Martinis?), the table of women who turned up shortly after us and kept taking pictures of each other, and the absence of anything approaching a minor celebrity - never mind a pole-dancing Lindsay Lohan.

Why did you trouble London Bungalow 8 with your unlovely presence, then?

Every bar's allowed an off night. And also Christopher Kane held his après-runway show bash there; David Furnish, Quentin Tarantino and Jade Jagger are all members (London operates a membership policy); so is my absolute fave new power couple - Uma Thurman and Arpad 'Arki' Busson .

You are a whore where the brittle, glinting celeb demi-monde is concerned.

I know! Isn't it great? Big Ron (who fancies himself as a Cocktail Boy) came along for a look. Having made the appropriate phone calls sometime in advance ('Hello. I am the Cocktail Girl. I wish to look inside your precious gilded drinkers paradise... ;') I was greeted effusively, and ushered sharpish into the Swarovski-designed interior by some handsome young men with clipboards.

And?

The boîte was not dissimilar in proportions and overall aesthetic to the New York club - small, deluxe and opulent. Oh, and, er, yet again, empty. It was just me and a mate in a Bungalow 8. So we did the sensible thing, and set about the cocktail list.

Naturally.

Unlike in NY, the drinks were extraordinarily good. Fresh, imaginative, expertly constructed. I especially liked the Tropicana - there is no better use for passion fruit pulp in the entire world. Big Ron liked it too.

Did anyone else turn up?

Big Ron swore he saw Calum Best, but I didn't. Barman to the stars, Ben Pundole (Sacco's business partner) turned up, and I attempted to have a conversation with him, but I'd had a fair few Tropicanas; and furthermore he had no idea who the Cocktail Girl was! Can you imagine? He was charming and cute though, so I forgave him.

Maybe you repel the cool crowd.

I will choose to ignore that, and focus on the fact that it was a rainy old Tuesday night of no particular note, and even the beautiful people sometimes like to spend a night in with Rebus and a spag bol. And anyway - I had fun. And that's what counts.

· Bungalow 8, St Martin's Lane Hotel, St Martin's Lane, London W1. Members only